


Mountain of Dreams

by socknonny



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Billy Hargrove sings and plays guitar, Blow Jobs, Fluff, M/M, New Year's Eve, You might consider this dubious consent if you don't like any alcohol present, but they're not smashed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-20
Updated: 2018-04-20
Packaged: 2019-04-25 07:10:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14373567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/socknonny/pseuds/socknonny
Summary: Steve's drunk, and someone is singing.





	Mountain of Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> Yoooo couldn't even last a day without coming back to Harringrove. If you want to know the song that's in this fic, it's in the end notes and also linked with the lyrics in the fic. Thanks for reading :) This fandom is so lovely...

Steve's drunk. He didn't mean to drink, but Nancy had dragged him and Jonathan to the quarry with a bunch of other people to celebrate the New Year, and Steve was feeling so giddy at the knowledge that he was still alive _to_ celebrate that he went without complaining.

And now he's drunk, and Nancy and Jonathan have disappeared, and there's something a little too predatory in the expression of the girl sitting beside him, so he gets up and leaves. He only wobbles a little, and someone catches him and straightens him up, sends him on his way with a laugh and a clap on the shoulder.

It's nice, normal—definitely not bullshit. Not that Nancy is anywhere in sight for him to tell that to.

“Nance?” he calls, but his voice is drowned out by the laughter and chatter of a bunch of teenagers who don't need to worry about anything worse than how their hair looks tonight.

That's another thing that's nice, even if it is a little isolating.

He gives up and wanders into the shadow of the trees for some quiet. He thinks he should probably be nervous, for obvious reasons, but he isn't. There haven't been any monsters in Hawkins since Eleven closed the gate, and Steve feels almost free. Even Billy Hargrove is different now, less of a monster, more of just a… teenager. An annoying, loud-mouthed, lone wolf of a teenager, but Steve can deal with that.

Billy had even apologised to him for the fight. He’d pulled Steve aside one night when they'd both been held back in detention. It was late enough that the sun had long since set by the time they emerged. A sliver of white had hung in the sky above them—not enough for visible moonlight, but enough for the sharp planes of Billy's face to be rimmed with silver as they stood in the empty parking lot.

It had taken a while for Billy to get the words out, but when he had, a weight that Steve didn't know he was carrying had disappeared.

Steve looks up at the thin crescent moon above him and remembers that night again, but the memory drifts away when he realises someone is singing. Barely thinking, he follows the gentle notes—there's a guitar playing too—into the trees. He doesn't know anyone in Hawkins who can sing like that.

When he stumbles through a gap in the woods to find someone sitting in a tiny clearing, he supposes he shouldn’t be surprised. On a night like this, when there is such a conspicuous absence of danger that he feels almost like he’s floating, anything is possible. So, of course it’s Billy Hargrove sitting against a log and playing a beaten-up acoustic guitar. Who else would it be?

Billy looks up, sees him standing there, and his fingers on the strings falter for just a moment before he continues playing. His voice is clear and sweet, still with the deep timbre of his speaking voice but somehow… lighter. Like he’s lifting the notes up into the air instead of letting them fall.

Steve doesn’t recognise the song, but he drops down and leans back against the tree beside Billy. He shuts his eyes and just listens, and after a moment, Billy starts singing again.

[“And it's startin' to flow, I think I might be sinkin'. Throw me a line, if I reach it in time.”](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BAQeZNjmJDA)

“You’re a good singer,” Steve says, slurring the words a little.

He opens his eyes again, because while having the music flow over him in darkness is amazing, he doesn’t want to miss any of this. Billy turns to him, still playing softly, and smiles. Steve thinks he might be a little drunk too, but only enough that the constant mask of aggression and anger has disappeared. It’s left something unrecognisable in its wake—something that makes Steve want to move in closer, even though their legs are already pressed together.

[“To find a queen without a king. They say she plays guitar and cries and sings,”](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BAQeZNjmJDA) Billy sings, leaning into Steve a little bit and grinning.

It feels like he’s singing _to_ Steve, which does funny things to Steve’s heart. He can’t look away from those blue eyes staring into his. Eventually he realises that Billy has stopped singing, the last notes of the guitar are fading away, and Billy is just watching him.

He shakes his head to clear it, but before he can work out what to say, Billy pulls out a bottle of champagne from behind the tree.

“It’s nearly midnight, Harrington,” Billy drawls, handing Steve the bottle and looking around him for his pack of cigarettes.

He finds it, pulls one out, and lights up. Steve’s mind is thrown back to that other night again, when Billy’s face was rimmed in silver and hidden by a thin veil of smoke as he struggled to put away his machismo for long enough to say sorry and mean it. His face was twisted then, dark and shadowed with something Steve didn’t understand, but it’s not like that now. It’s relaxed and open, and he’s smiling in a way Steve never imagined. He assumes it must be because of the guitar or maybe the champagne, because otherwise it’s because of Steve, and that thought means too much for him to look at it closely.

“You got any New Year’s Resolutions?” Steve asks, taking a long swig from the bottle and passing it over.

Billy drinks, head tilted back so that his neck is arched and long. Steve can’t look away.

“Start the year as you mean to continue,” he says when he’s finally put the bottle down.

He stares straight out into the trees as he takes another drag, and Steve struggles to work out what that means.

“Then how are you starting—” he begins, but the words die in his throat when he realises that Billy has put a hand on Steve’s knee.

It’s quiet out here, with the sounds of the party far enough away that Steve can pretend they are alone. His heart is beating rapidly, and all the times he’s ever imagined something like this are flooding his head until he can think of nothing else.

Billy watches him steadily, drifts of smoke rising up between them.

“Yeah?” Billy asks, a thousand questions in that single word.

Steve nods, and then the hand is sliding lower and lower. Billy abandons the cigarette, grinding it into the dirt, and moves between Steve’s thighs.

Steve hears himself gasp as if from a distance, but he bites down hard on his lip because even if he can pretend they’re alone, he knows they’re only metres away from everyone he knows.

Billy watches and, slowly, a grin spreads across his face. He winks and undoes Steve’s jeans, absolutely no hesitation in his eyes as he runs a hand across Steve’s rapidly hardening cock.

“Like how that feels, Harrington?”

Billy’s voice is so low and rasping, Steve can barely hear it. He manages to nod in response—how could he _not_ like this?—and then every other thought disappears from his brain as Billy’s mouth closes around him.

In the distance, someone turns up the radio and music blasts through the emptiness of the night. It’s nothing like the song Billy was playing. Steve can still hear the echo of those quiet notes—isn’t sure he’ll ever forget them—and he feels like they have somehow moved even further away from the party, like they’re occupying a different space all together.

Billy’s hand shifts to the base of Steve’s cock, his other hand disappearing below his own jeans, and he slows to a steady rhythm that has Steve gasping beneath him. Every ounce of his awareness has narrowed to the wet heat of Billy Hargrove’s mouth. Every moan Billy makes around him makes Steve’s head drop back and his lips fall slack. It’s a sweet agony because he knows he can’t make a sound, and God, he wants to.

Instead, he threads his fingers through blond curls and matches Billy’s rhythm, balancing on his left elbow and thrusting up to the sound of Billy’s moans.

Soon, the distant music disappears, eclipsed by the quiet sounds they’re making that drift higher and higher into the night. He can feel Billy smiling, his tongue wrapping around Steve’s cock with a reverence Steve never expected. Then, Billy falters, his other hand speeding up and becoming unsteady. The reality of what they’re doing—what’s about to happen—hits Steve through his drunken haze.

Billy Hargrove is blowing him—is _loving_ blowing him—and Steve can’t get enough of it. He holds on tighter to Billy’s hair and fucks his mouth as slow as he can bear, watching the way Billy’s eyebrows come together in a mixture of disbelief and ecstacy as he stutters, moans, and spills over into his own hand.

Steve follows immediately after, unable to keep from crying out, not caring who hears it.

Billy pulls away and falls onto his back, his head pillowed on his hand and his jeans still undone. Steve takes a second or two to regain his composure, and then he reaches for the crumpled pack of cigarettes, takes one out, and throws the pack to Billy.

Two glowing circles of red are the only light in the clearing; even the moon has disappeared behind a cloud. The music drifts back into his awareness, but it’s distant enough that Steve can ignore it. A strange sense of peace has descended between them, and it takes Steve a moment to realise what it is—for him, at least.

He’s alive, doing the same kind of normal shit everyone else is doing tonight, and for the first time in a long time he doesn’t feel quite so alone. He wonders what Billy is thinking that has made this moment so full of peace for him too, when to any other teenager it would just be another dumb hookup. But he doesn’t want to ruin the moment by asking.

He suddenly remembers what night it is, and he looks at his watch, smiling a little when he realises the time.

“Happy new year, Billy.”

Billy looks across at him, face a little shadowed but not so much that Steve can’t see the slow grin that spreads across his face. Whatever he’s thinking, Steve knows that it’s eclipsed by the same kind of lightness and euphoria that Steve feels right now; they are just teenagers tonight, celebrating together. There are no monsters out here.

“Happy new year, Steve.”

**Author's Note:**

> (I have THINGS to DO. Why am I HERE.)
> 
> Billy is singing Going to California (Led Zeppelin). It's also where the title comes from.


End file.
